The Good News
by Seta Suzume
Summary: Brendan and the Secret of Kells: Brendan has returned to rebuild Kells. Aisling pays him a sudden visit.


The Good News

Brendan had never been a particularly practical soul, but he was doing the best he could to lead the brothers in rebuilding Kells. A new scriptorium was one of his first projects. He didn't dwell long on the idea of walls. He knew firsthand how futile they were, but he still understood why Uncle had tried. Physical security was a luxury few in the isle could lay their hands upon. The only true security came from God. It was something he could give the people- the good news. The Book of Kells was his masterpiece. He worked on other texts, but none would be quite like the first because he had shared that task with Brother Aidan and now he worked alone. Someday there would have to be another, trained to use the eye and with an inspired touch, but Brendan was still quite young and didn't need to be worrying about a successor quite yet.

All in all, Brendan was pleased with the progress he had seen made in his time since returning to Kells. He did what he could, taking each day one at a time. When he walked through the wood with Pangur Ban, agile and curious as ever, he remembered his youthful bravery. The forest hadn't changed much. Though some sections had burned, years of winter giving way to spring had renewed them. But he had little time to spare for the forest despite the beckoning of the branches waving in the wind.

On a misty day, while he was strolling through the town, Aisling appeared. It was early and the villagers were barely beginning to awaken from their slumber. Aisling was much as he remembered her, ghostly pale with white hair that reached to her ankles. She looked at him intently. She could cut through his heart with a green-eyed gaze as sharp as Pangur Ban's. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what was right to say. He opened his mouth all the same. "Aisling. Hello. ...I'm glad to see you looking well."

"I've seen you in the forest sometimes. You aren't so clumsy as before. And you know your way."

"Most of the time, not always. But that's all thanks to you." Part of Brendan had expected that Aisling would still appear like a little girl. That she really was the fey had taken her for so long ago. But that wasn't the case. It made him feel strange to notice this. He scratched his beard, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest.

"Do you ever go there looking for me? I'd like it if you would."

He liked Aisling. He was glad to see her again- in this form that he could be sure was her- maybe she was a fairy after all. But something told him he couldn't honor this request quite the way she meant him to. "I... I'd like to see you more, Aisilng, but I can't run wild among the trees like I used to sneak out and do. I have too many duties to attend to here. People are depending on me. The brothers would like to make me abbot. And there are books to make. ....There's always a need for books."

Aisling frowned, her pale lips drawn into a tight line. Brendan fidgeted nervously. He felt as if he had done something very cruel by making her countenance darken so. "What about the book you were working on before?" she asked. He was glad that she spoke up. If she hadn't said anything he wouldn't have known what to do. "Is it finished?"

"The Book of Kells. Yes, I did finish it. Brother Aidan was very pleased."

"And you brought it back here, did you not? Shouldn't that be good enough?"

"It is good, very good, but there are blessing one can gather simply by putting all of one's skill into copying and illuminating the text and there are other communities across this land and elsewhere that could benefit from their own copies of the Word." It was easier for him to discuss books than most other things. They cast a special sort of enchantment over him. He had known their value from a very young age.

As the dawn began to change from rosy reds to clearer daytime whites and yellows, Aisling cast her eyes warily on the townsfolk tending to their daily work. She was never fully comfortable in this sort of place, of so many people and buildings of stone. "Will you show me the book? Perhaps if I see it again, I will understand your feelings a little better."

"Of course," he agreed," leading his old friend to the scriptorium. It was still empty but for Pangur Ban, who dozed on a stack of practice sheets in a corner. The Book of Kells sat modesty in a place of honor at the back of the room. Although its cover was lovely, it had never been adorned with the gold and jewels that had attracted the Norsman's eye again.

Brendan picked up the book reverently and carried it down to Aisling who had paused by a simple scribe's desk and was peering curiously at a jar of indigo ink. "Go ahead," he held it out to her, "Please take a look." The young man felt unusually shy as Aisling turned the pages, her eyes widening slightly as she scanned his work of many years. He wanted her to take as long as she needed to see everything without any pressure his gaze might cause her. Her opinion meant a lot to him.

At last, Aisling pressed the book back into his hands. Brendan looked up eagerly to see what response her bright eyes would hold. He wasn't entirely sure what he was expecting- the kind of awe that he had expressed as a boy when he first laid eyes on the book, surprise at how his skills had grown over the years, simple pleasure from their meaning and their beauty- but Aisling's face showed none of these. She smiled vaguely, her head tipped at an angle. Brendan felt his heart sinking and his flushed face go cold.

"It's nice," she declared, "You must've worked very hard. There certainly is a lot to it."

And then she was silent. That was it. All she had to say about the greatest achievement of his life. Something she had even helped make possible. Brendan opened his mouth, clutching the book as if he were holding on for dear life, but he couldn't say a word. How could he possible respond to this statement without sounding hurt or haughty?

"If you come to my forest, you can draw there too," she said after some quiet.

Brendan put the book back where it belonged. His steps were very slow. He felt empty. His oldest and best friend outside the monastery did not share his passion in the slightest. "If... If I have the time, I will come," he replied at last. He like Aisling. How cruel it would be the end things over this when she had come to him again after so long.

She could've left then, having heard his promise, but Aisling sensed he had more to say, so she waited to hear him out. They would be alone a while yet. She had time.

"It's just...it's more than drawing, Aisling," Brendan tired to explain. His throat felt tight. It was difficult to say these words. "It's the text too. And what it means."

"I suppose it might, but I don't know these letters. I can't read it."

His tense form loosened as her words struck him. Just like the peasants of the town. He supposed it was strange to expect Aisling to be able to read, but she was so special, with mysterious powers, that he had just assumed that a mundane skill like mere reading would certainly be within her grasp. "You can't?"

Brendan's strength came flowing back, fueled by the fire of friendship. He smiled, blue eyes sparkling with excitement at the enterprise he planned to embark on. Aisling smiled back, looking a bit wary as she awaited an explanation of this grand upswing of mood. "Then I will read it to you! And teach you to read as well!" he announced. How could he not be filled with joy when seized with such a calling?


End file.
